Mr. Fontaine felt that the time had come for Claude to learn more of the technique of a big business in jewelry and the fine arts. He pointed out that the war had caused a substantial reduction in the demand for luxuries accompanied by a substantial increase in the tax upon them. And he asked his son if he had never wondered why, in the face of this handicap, the firm’s post-war profits had exceeded the records of pre-war years. "Yes, it did puzzle me," admitted Claude. "But there’s so much wizardry in your management of the business—" "No wizardry at all. One or two of the biggest firms land their prizes without the Customs House being a penny the wiser." Claude made a wild movement to rise, but fell back in his chair again. "Then that blackguard was right," he cried, his face ashen. "What on earth do you mean? What blackguard?" "Hutchins Burley! He called me a diamond smuggler right out before everybody at the Outlaws’ Ball." In the greatest agitation Mr. Fontaine pressed Claude for particulars. When the whole story had been told, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Nothing to worry over, thank goodness!" he said, reassuring his son. "Nobody will pay the slightest attention to what a tipsy man blurts out against the Fontaines." "No?" Claude’s tone was decidedly skeptical. "No, they won’t dare to." "Anyhow, we’re actually _in_ this smuggling game—" Claude went on gloomily. "Our competitors call it slight-of-hand organized." The ghost of a smile flitted over Claude’s face. "And what do they call being at the mercy of a drunken cur’s venom?" "Don’t rub it in, Claude. I blame myself severely for your embarrassment. I ought to have forewarned you earlier. But it won’t happen again. Depend upon it, I shall lock that fellow’s tongue, good and tight." "Is it really necessary for us Fontaines to have truck with such degraded scoundrels?" "Well, my boy, it isn’t exactly easy to get certificated gentlemen for the work," said Mr. Fontaine, stung into irony. "But don’t let’s go into that now, Claude. You must have confidence in me. One of these days I shall give you the history of the whole matter from A to Z." "But look here, father. Suppose we were caught!" Mr. Fontaine sat down in an armchair opposite his son and lighted a cigar with leisurely grace. "It’s a possibility," he said, "a slim possibility. But we have excellent friends." "Government officials?" "H’m—yes. More especially—there’s Colonel Armstrong." "Mr. Armstrong! You don’t mean to say he dickers with backstairs political grafters?" "’Dickers’ is hardly the word. Colonel Armstrong stands above, about and underneath the political machines—both of them." "Mr. Armstrong in the boodle game! I can scarcely believe it."